


Learn to do it

by orphan_account



Series: comfortember [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Banter, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, also an awkward 20 something, attempts at humor, bruce is a soft marshmallow in this, every batkid was a little hellion, i do not make the rules, lots and lots of banter, no editing i die like jason, that's learning how to parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “For goodness’s sake, Master Bruce,” Alfred called, loudly, from the driver’s seat. “Relax, would you? It’s not like he’s about to stab you.”No. That would likely have been easier to handle.Or, Bruce gets legal guardianship over a traumatized 8 yo.For comfortember day 4: Anxiety
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: comfortember [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995100
Comments: 15
Kudos: 196
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Learn to do it

**Author's Note:**

> Alfred’s sass is based on my grandmother’s. I love her.
> 
> As usual I own nothing ! the * line is a reference to Toy Story.  
> I will come back later to edit this, so pls excuse any and all mistakes  
> I hope you have fun reading this!!

Bruce had no earthly clue what he was doing. 

Dick, his _ward_ — he was responsible for an entire human being, now, like that was just a normal thing one could be. Not that he wasn’t used to being responsible for people’s lives. Saving them, getting them to safety, handing jobs. Brief moments of existence before he could hand off that burden to someone else. An adultier adult. Paramedics. The police. Alfred. This. This was different. — was slumped against his side, head lolling against Bruce’s shoulder, lulled to sleep by Alfred’s smooth driving. 

The day marked his first day, his first hour really, as Dick Grayson’s legal guardian. 

It hadn’t taken long, a mere fifteen minutes after his belongings had disappeared into the trunk of the car, for Dick to fall asleep. 

Then he’d turned until his head was resting more comfortably. On Bruce’s shoulder. Seeking warmth, perhaps.

So. 

Bruce was stuck staying as still as he could manage.

Dick had ugly purple bags under his eyes that he would have thought were bruises, if it weren’t for the lack of swelling. This looked like the first decent rest he’d gotten in a while, perhaps even since he was made to stay in the juvenile detention center. 

Bruce carefully did not tense at that thought. Gotham’s child protection services had stuck a traumatized eight years old in a detention center. All the kid had to his name was a costume that had promptly been torn to shreds by mocking sneers and repulsive slurs, and a meager suitcase full of belongings he hadn’t had access to. 

Corruption was everywhere, of course. The city was choking on it. That was news to exactly no one. It was why Bruce fought. To create a safer Gotham. But he hadn’t quite realized how many different fronts he would have to focus on. 

He was going to change that. It was hard to look at the mop of dark hair, the fading bruises, the smile that could still light up the room, despite everything that had happened to him, and not want to promise him the world. To offer safety. To make it so he had someone who understood, to help him heal better, be better than Bruce himself.

“For goodness’s sake, Master Bruce,” Alfred called, loudly, from the driver’s seat. “Relax, would you? It’s not like he’s about to stab you.” 

No. That would likely have been easier to handle.

“I don’t want to wake him up,” he protested, keeping his voice low.

Over his years under Alfred’s guidance, Bruce had developed a sixth sense for when his father figure was raising his eyebrows judgmentally. He could feel it tingling then, a pinprick on the back of his neck.

“I’ll hand in my resignation if that boy wakes up for anything short of an earthquake.” 

“That would be terrible timing on your part, Al,” he remarked, only half-joking. 

Alfred looked amused even as he caught his eye in the front mirror.

“Indeed, sir.”

Heeding Alfred’s advice, he moved — carefully — and reached to tuck Dick’s scarf a little better around his neck. It could get cold in the car, when you were exhausted, or passing out from blood loss.

“You might even have to learn how to cook. The horror.”

“I know how to cook.”

“Of course, sir.” 

The car slowed to a crawl as they approached the first of the Manor’s security systems. Then, in what seemed like no time at all, the car stopped in one of the garages.

Bruce winced at the loud banging sound of the car door.

He debated whether or not to carry Dick inside. It felt wrong to wake him up when he looked that exhausted. But how would he take being carried, or worse, waking up in an entirely new environment with no clue how he got there. 

Reluctantly, Bruce reached out to unbuckle both of their seatbelts, then shook him awake. 

“Wake up, chum. We’re here.” 

Groaning, Dick buried his face more firmly in his shoulder. The very distinct “I told you so” look Alfred shot him could be felt even through the layers of reinforced, bullet proof, car door. 

“Well, I suppose you’re not rid of us yet, then,” Bruce said, a little baffled.

“Oh, woe is me,” was shot back his way, in the driest, blandest, tone imaginable. “Whatever will I do now.”

Bruce did not deign answer that.

“Dick, chum. Wake up.” 

Dick did not wake up. Was that typical of him. Was he simply a heavy sleeper, or was he getting sick? Should Bruce start worrying here.

“Years of academy training, wasted*,” Alfred continued, clearly enjoying this much more than the situation warranted.

The third try didn’t garner any more results than the previous two had. 

Bruce frowned.

“Is he alright, do you think?”

“I’d wager that this is the first time he’s felt safe enough to fall into deep sleep in weeks. He’s as well as can be.” 

Given the circumstances. 

“Maybe I should let him sleep some more.”

“Well, you could certainly do that,” Alfred said, “I might even feel charitable enough to bring you a blanket, so the lad doesn’t catch his death.” He paused. “During the 13 hours you both will spend freezing in this car.” 

Catch his death? 

“Or, and mind you, this is but a suggestion, you might want to put your back into it and actually try, Master Bruce.” 

“I don’t want to scare him.” 

He wanted Dick to feel safe with them. But he was not a small man. He wasn’t especially soft looking either. 

Though Dick hadn’t had any problems standing up to Batman.

“You’re overthinking this.” 

He was not. Dick was far too thin.

“I’m basically a stranger to him.” 

“And that is going to have to change. Besides. He certainly trusted you enough to guard him while he slept.”

Alfred was right, of course. He often was. 

“I’ve seen you handle lions with less caution than this, sir.” 

Lions weren’t easily traumatized. Probably. The ones Bruce had fought certainly didn’t look it.

He ought to look into that.

Bruce had no idea what children did. He’d never been a very normal, or social child himself, and had never had a sibling either. Despite all his newly read parenting books, he had no data to base himself on, no previous experience. 

He was going in blind. 

  
———————

  
Children, as it turned out, did pull ups from the chandeliers in the foyer, and somersaulted down stairs. They did that in addition to using the perfectly good training and trapeze equipment Bruce had bought for them. 

Children balanced themselves on one hand on their speeding bicycle’s seat when they thought he wasn’t looking.

They disappeared from school grounds to go hunt for clues in case work they’d decided was their to undertake. 

To his surprise, Bruce had actually been way more ready to handle a kid than he’d expected.

———————

  
Dick had grown so quickly over the course of mere months, from a sullen kid that was angry at the world, to a bright, focused child. 

A little smirking terror. Bruce hadn’t known it was possible to love someone so much, so quickly.

“You’re going to lose.” 

“Is that so?” he hummed. He was. The blood was starting to pool down in his head, it was taking more focus to stay in the handstand than it should. 

He was giving up yet, though. 

Slowly, so as not to startle Dick, he shifted all his weight to one hand. When he was perfectly balanced again, he used his free hand to lightly push at Dick’s shoulder. 

Dick stayed balanced for the first two pushes. Then he started giggling, and tucked forward in a roll.

“I win,” Bruce deadpanned.

“You cheated.” 

“And that’s quite enough of that, I think,” Alfred said. “Dinner is ready.”

Bruce fell back on his feet. 

“Go clean up for dinner, Dick. We can train more tomorrow.”

They watched him go. Again, he was hit with how much Dick had grown, and grown comfortable with them, in merely a few months.

“When you brought Master Dick home, I was ecstatic at the idea of a child being added to this family.” Ecstatic would not be the term he’d choose. Happy, certainly. Skeptical, maybe. “Little did I know we had actually added two.”

Bruce stared. 

“Thank you for that.” 

“Anytime, sir.” 

Some nights, Bruce wondered if Alfred had spoken to his father like that, too. Then usually decided it was a question better left unanswered.

“Master Bruce?” 

“Mmh?”

“I couldn’t be more proud.” 

All in all, the debilitating anxiety faded, with time. It didn’t disappear, of course. Child rearing sometimes seemed to be one crisis after the other. It took time for Dick to make friends in school, for one thing. Something Bruce had hoped to spare him.

Then, Dick Grayson met Wally West and Donna Troy and that nagging fear disappeared entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please take care of yourself <3


End file.
